Doctor Who_ Companion Piece - Mike Tucker [7]
A chattering gaggle of prairie women had descended on the marketplace, gesturing and haggling over the goods on offer. Philippo smiled. It was well known that the women of the prairie had a fondness for plegan beans. He looked over his shoulder to check his stock, then realised with a curse that his kreekg was still tethered on the far side of the market, the bulk of his goods still slung in panniers across its back.
He swore loudly. In the confusion of his change of location, he had forgotten to offload the remainder of the beans; in his usual spot, he had been able to tether his beast alongside the stall, with no need to unpack every one of the bulky sacks.
He stretched his neck to see where the prairie folk were. A dozen or so of them were clustered around the stall of Enrique the clothier. The stocky mountain man was gesturing animatedly at his rolls of cloth, his rich voice booming across the market square. Philippo nodded in satisfaction. Enrique was a hard negotiator. The women would be there for some time.
Snatching up his jerkin, he darted out into the bustle of traders. If he could just get two more sacks back to his stall before the women arrived . . .
The marketplace was bustling, and it took Philippo some time to make his way through the crowds to the quieter outer edges. Kreekgs and redaara of all sizes stood patiently in lines at the feeding troughs, snorting and pawing at the ground. Philippo stumbled through the hoofchurned mud to his heavily laden old bull-kreekg. The sooner he could get back to his old patch, the better.
He fumbled with the leather straps that held the panniers in place. Two bags should be enough for the moment. He could come back for the rest once the prairie women had gone. Better still, if he could persuade them to take the rest of his stock, wholesale as it were.
He heaved one of the panniers onto his shoulder, grunting as the strap bit into his flesh. His beast jerked against its tether, braying hoarsely.
`W hat's the matter with you?' Philippo slapped its rump harshly. `You've plenty of food. They look after you better than they do us . . . '
The kreekg shook its maned head, rattling the steel rings that were set into the city wall. Philippo frowned. A wind had sprung up, and there was a noise; a noise that reminded him of .. .
All colour drained from Philippo's face. The pannier dropped from his shoulder, splashing into the mud and sending beans scattering between the feet of the kreekgs. The trader turned slowly, eyes wide with fear. Across the street, in the shadow of one of the municipal buildings, a shape was beginning to form: a tall blue box, a light blinking on its top. A grating roar echoed around the stone walls.
Philippo pressed himself between the skittering animals, clutching at the small cross that hung around his neck and praying desperately that the pain that had haunted his dreams for over a year would not return.
W ith a loud, asthmatic thump, the noise stopped. Then the light on the box stopped flashing. Philippo watched in horror as a door swung open and two figures stepped out into the crisp morning air. As he watched, the smaller one — a girl — brought flame flaring to life in her hand and raised it up to her mouth.
W ith wispy smoke drifting around them, the two strangers vanished into the marketplace, bickering animatedly. Philippo tried to calm his hammering heart. 'W itchcraft . . . ' he whispered.
Deep, sonorous bells began to ring out across the square. Philippo
looked up. Above him, the cathedral stretched into the morning sky. `Yes . . . The priests . . . The priests must be told:
All thoughts of plegan beans gone from his mind, Philippo stumbled towards the cathedral.
Cat blew a hazy blue cloud of tobacco smoke into the air and stared in delight at the effervescent market around